5. Chapter 5

Sherlock was just finishing the final touches of his appearance when he heard the door open downstairs. He ruffled his hair, letting his curls look more natural but wild at the same time. He tucked his shirt in, and took a deep breath. He wanted to impress John, not that he might notice. But he would go to the effort just in case. Popping a mint into his mouth that dissolved quickly, Sherlock walked out of the bathroom and entered the living room just as John did.

"Need a hand?" Sherlock questioned, looking directly into John's eyes. His pupils dilated, and Sherlock felt a whirl of warmth in his belly. That usually was a sign of attraction. So far so good, he thought.

"Uh, yeah, actually. That'd be good. Thanks," John replied.

Since when was Sherlock the type to do such a thing? John didn't mean that in a bad way, he was just curious as to what Sherlock was up to. John had left Sherlock's side when he woke up because he had a sudden jolt of fear that Sherlock would wake up and jump in surprise and horror to see John there. He just didn't want to scare him away. He wanted to end up with Sherlock. As Sherlock took two of the three bags from John, he successfully managed to brush his hand against John's. It sent a shiver up Sherlock's arm, and he even noticed John's arm hair stand on end at the contact. After packing all the supplies away, Sherlock made tea for the both of them. As he walked over to where the sugar was, hope tripped, and not on purpose.

"Woah!" he yelled as he fell.

Right into John.

He ended up pulling John down with him, not that he actually meant to. Sherlock fell on his back while John landed on top of him. They were both breathing heavily. "S-sorry," Sherlock stuttered. The closeness was getting to him, and he felt himself heating up. He wanted to kiss him, he wanted to feel John's hands coursing through his hair, but he didn't know how to initiate it. Just lean in? Say something? It was too much! On the other hand, John thought that Sherlock had meant to pull him down, that this was all a game. That Sherlock had figured things out. He smiled. If that's how Sherlock was going to play, John would have to have some fun of his own.

"What was that?" John asked teasingly as he leaned in a bit. He stopped when he heard Sherlock whimper and then hitch his breath.

"I-I said...I s-said sorry," Sherlock managed to say.

The emotions he was feeling we're going to the extreme. He would go nuts if John didn't get off of him soon. John was enjoying the way Sherlock reacted. He looked too cute with his little blush obvious on his cheeks, his lips parted but not able to form any words, and his beautiful eyes darting quickly between John's eyes. He looked so innocent, John thought, and that made him want to kiss him so much more.

"Oh, it's alright," John said.

And then just like that, he was off of Sherlock, and walking to the living room. Sherlock remained on the floor, and let his head fall back as he emitted a sigh. Damn that man! Him and his...his. Ugh! His cuteness? That wasn't quite an insult, now was it? Sherlock marched into the living room, hoping to get things straight. If he was going to confess anything, he'd do it now while he still had the guts to.

"John?"

He wasn't there. Not in his chair, not on the landing, nowhere in the living room. Where'd he go? Sherlock was fearful that John had either left or been taken, but who would have taken him? Sherlock did have many enemies, yes, but he wasn't dealing with anyone at the moment.

"John?!" he called out more frantically.

He searched the whole flat, from top to bottom. He looked over all possible hiding spots that would be able to withhold John's small and fairly light form. He was searching under his bed when he heard a noise outside of his room.

"John?" he asked wearily as he walked into the hallway. "John, is that you? Where are you?"

There was another loud BANG behind him, and he whirled around to see what the source was. Nothing was there. Nobody was there. What was going on? He started to worry more about John, and scrunched up his eyebrows in concentration. John being in trouble over powered his mind, however, and he couldn't think straight.

"John...please," he begged.

He hadn't ever begged for anyone, but he desperately wanted to see John. He wanted to tell him how he felt so that they could work things out. Before Sherlock could comprehend what was happening, he was slammed into the wall behind him. There stood a smirking John.

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